as if they were not gold
by omens
Summary: Some men let such ties tear them apart. But for them, she becomes merely another link in the chain of their mutual destiny.  Arthur, Morgana, Merlin  AU Season 2 and onward.


**Name:** Chris

**Title:** as if they were not gold

**Fandom:** Merlin

**Word Count:** 12,732

**Genre:** Angst

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Some men let ties such as these tear them apart. But for them, she becomes merely another link in the chain of their mutual destiny. [Arthur, Morgana, Merlin] AU Season 2 and onward.

I originally wrote this for the armor_bigbang, which seems to have gone kaput, but I thought I'd just go ahead and post it anyway.

_Title from 'The Liar and the Lighter' by You Me At Six_

…0…

déjà verrai: already will have seen

…0…

_Dawn breaks over Camelot, with Gwen's hand clasped tightly in Lancelot's, the pair of them fleeing the city as fast as their horses can run. _

_At the far edge of the forest, beyond the line where the trees obscure the horizon, Morgana stands. She stands, silent, and she waits. He'll come. _

_He always does. _

…0…

The last thing Morgana remembers when she wakes, drowsy, her throat sore, is the feel of Merlin's coat sleeve under her fingers, warmed by his skin, as he cradled her in his arms. She thinks, for a moment, that it has all been some strange dream.

Then she sees the bottle on the bedside table. Hemlock. She recognizes Gaius's handwriting, would know it anywhere, and she remembers. Merlin.

It seems madness. To think that Merlin - sweet, compassionate, kindhearted Merlin, who has never even raised his voice in her presence - would poison her, would i_kill/i _her, without cause… it's enough to break her heart.

Morgause is there, with water, and a soothing hand against her fevered brow. "Shh," she whispers, "don't try to talk yet. Rest."

For once in her life, Morgana listens. She leans back against the pillows and closes her eyes. As Morgause leaves the room, Morgana allows the tears to come. Rolling over onto her side so she can bury her face and muffle the sounds, she sobs out the feelings coiling in her body; the anger, the disbelief, the cold, palpable loneliness that comes with knowing that i_Merlin/i_ would poison her.

Its something Morgana cannot fathom. This… treachery, it isn't Merlin. Not the thoughtful, tender boy she knows, who has nothing but goodness in his heart, the boy with the gentle hands and tentative touches that make her skin buzz. A fresh wail dies in her throat before it has a chance to escape, one hand fisted between her lips, the other flattened over the slight protrusion of her otherwise slim stomach.

And she prays.

…0…

_It isn't the gift of foresight that tells Merlin that she's here. He had known she would be. _

_Standing on the highest tower of the castle, he watched as Gwen - sweet, honorable, loyal Gwen - took the hand of a man not her husband and rode off towards God only knew where, leaving behind the man who loves her more than he has ever loved anyone else. _

_Save one._

…0…

It takes Morgana by surprise, the realization that she has, against all better judgment, fallen in love with Arthur.

Truthfully, it's ludicrous.

Standing at her window, Morgana watches the knights training below, Arthur moving through the lines of men as they step this way and thrust their swords that way. These men, they are the handsomest men in all of Britain, the most noble, all high born men of family and fortune. Perfect husband material.

And yet it is the very boy who has done little more than provoke her ire for the last ten years that she can't take her eyes off of.

"My lady."

She turns at Gwen's voice, sees the worry in her maid's face. Ever since she returned from the Druid camp Gwen has been keeping a watchful eye on her, gauging her movements and her reactions. It is unsettling.

"Are you all right, Morgana?" Gwen presses the back of her hand to Morgana's cheek, looking for signs of illness. "Shall I send for Gaius?"

With a small smile, Morgana shakes her head. "I'm fine, Gwen. Just… thinking." She turns back to the window, a heavy feeling in her chest.

Sensing her eyes on him, Arthur tilts his head up, locking onto hers above him at once. Morgana feels her cheeks heat foolishly. She has so often observed this daily ritual that she feels she could perform the routines herself. And this isn't the first time Arthur has seen her, sometimes with Gwen, watching the formation of the men as he puts them through their paces.

This is the first time, however, that his knowing has made her cheeks flush like a giggly young handmaiden.

Squaring her shoulders, Morgana juts her chin and slams the window shut.

…0…

_Arthur hears Merlin leave the castle before the sun is all the way up in the sky. _

_Merlin's chambers are across the courtyard from Arthur's, far enough away to give them both privacy, but within seeing distance so Arthur can keep an eye on him - and vice versa. It comes in handy at times. _

_But now, with his queen's side of the bed ice cold, Arthur knows that this is not merely one of Merlin's early morning hunt for herbs. He knows, and a part of himself that the king has been denying for years begins to ache inside of him for the first girl who ever stole his heart. _

…0…

"It's good to have you back."

When Merlin leaves Morgana's room, his tongue is heavy with all the things he didn't say.

He had come close, so very close. Too close.

There is nothing else in this world or the next that Merlin wants more than to be honest with Morgana. He has come to regard her as a friend, though her station is so far above his own, and he sympathizes with her plight the way no one else can. It's arrogant to place himself on equal footing with someone of her class, but it's true. To live under the roof of Uther Pendragon himself and practice magic of any sort… it is tantamount to a death sentence.

He feels the scratch at his throat, the chaffing of an invisible noose.

If only he could tell her…

Merlin knows what it feels like; to be so alone, the isolation of believing that there isn't a single soul that understands the fear and confusion of something you can't control. Of just how terrified it makes you feel.

For his entire life, Merlin suffered through the exact emotions that drove Morgana to the Druids. But it wasn't until he came to Camelot that he found someone who knew of his abilities, and accepted him - loved him - exactly as he is that he began to feel whole. His mother would love him regardless, as all good mothers are prone to. But Gaius, he has no bond of blood or family. Merely affection of friendship. And it has given Merlin a peace that he has never before known.

He could do that for Morgana now.

It would be so simple; to open the door that he leans heavily against (his guilt making it too difficult to stand on his own) and unburden them both. They are kindred, they are magic. And magic is something, Merlin has learned, that can never be ignored. It rears its head, unbidden, and takes no heed of the inconvenience. No matter what happens, it will always bond them together.

He thinks of a moment that he hasn't in months; Morgana, impossibly beautiful even in the dim dungeon lighting, saying that she knew his secret. Merlin remembers the thrill and relief of having someone to confide in - someone to talk to - and the bitter tang of disappointment when the secret she meant didn't even exist.

"_Your secret is safe with me."_

Eyes closing, Merlin runs through his memories to the look on Morgana's face when Mordred's father was executed. There, there had been fear. There had been understanding. It is a fate inescapable if discovered. None is above it. Neither a servant, nor the closest thing Uther has ever had to a daughter.

No. It's safer this way.

…0…

The night Morgana stumbles upon Arthur kissing Gwen behind a castle tapestry, Merlin finds her crying in the gardens.

"Morgana…" He kneels beside her on the dewy grass, placing a gentle hand over hers. "My lady, what's wrong?"

She swipes angrily at her tears. She's being ridiculous and she knows it. "Nothing, Merlin. I'm fine."

He gives her that look. That Merlin look which always seems to say that he knows exactly what it is she's not saying. It makes her feel exposed, that look. "If that were the case," he whispers with a tiny imitation of a smile ghosting at the edges of his mouth, "then you wouldn't be crying."

Her laugh breaks down into a sob. Merlin catches her about the shoulders, pressing her to his side. She cries there, her tears soaking the edge of his neckerchief. He allows her to stay there as long as she needs, her fingernails embedding themselves into the skin of his wrists and her pitiful crying the only noise on the moonless autumn night.

The scuffle of nearby feet on the castle halls pull her back to herself. She straightens up, pulls free of Merlin's grasp. She's being ridiculous. For one, she's crying over Arthur of all people. It's simply ludicrous. Pointless. And for another, the amount of gossip that would spread should she be caught with a servant, even in such innocent circumstances… Morgana shakes her head, cursing the restrictions of her 'place' and how limiting all the privileges in the world can be.

Wiping her face, Morgana averts her face from Merlin as she tries to piece her composure back together. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this, Merlin."

He shakes his head, lays a warm hand over hers. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Something is there, lurking in the pools of blue in his eyes, in the undertones of his words. Something she at once recognizes and has never known before.

It's all so terribly akin to the way she feels lately when Arthur's eyes meet hers that it sends a jolt down her spine and she jerks her hand away. "Goodnight, Merlin," she says, the coldness in her voice unmistakable, and hurries toward her chambers.

…0…

Though he pretends otherwise, Arthur spends a lot of time observing both Merlin and Morgana.

And what he knows is that Morgana's been acting strangely for a while. Long before the Druids took her, much longer. For as long as he's known her, Morgana has never passed up an opportunity to let Arthur know exactly what's on her mind. Especially when she thinks it may provoke his ire. Yet she was silent the entire way back to Camelot from the Druid camp. Once she awoke and one of his men helped her on to his horse, she said nothing. Not a single word.

She didn't seem tired. Or scared, or even relieved to be going home. If that were the case Arthur imagines that their journey would have been like the time he'd had to go fetch her beyond the other side of the woods after that Duke's son had abandoned her there when she resisted his advances. It had taken Arthur half a day to find her, and her wandering about in the woods had left her tired and cranky, and she'd sat dozing in front of him, her head lolling back against his shoulder, body entirely cradled against his.

This was different. Morgana sat, straight up, with more hauteur and stoic reserve than all the queens and princesses Arthur had ever met for the whole of their journey home.

She's been avoiding him for a while. And he's spent so much time thinking about his ill placed feelings for Gwen that he paid it little mind. He should have. Morgana is the closest thing he has to actual _family_. He has his father of course, and he will be king one day, but the way he feels when Morgana stalks into his room, all righteous fire and teasing mockery - it's different. In some way that he can't describe, she's all he has.

Well, her and Merlin. Arthur doubts that even death would separate his manservant from him. The boy would probably just figure out a way to haunt Arthur the rest of his days.

Thinking about his ne'er do well servant makes Arthur shake his head. The night before leaves little doubt in his mind that Merlin is harboring feelings for Morgana. And doing a lousy job hiding them.

If he could, Arthur would forbid Merlin from going to Morgana's chambers, or even to speak to her, but he knows that's not possible. Morgana has made it very clear that she likes Merlin - that much was obvious from the way she and Gwen rode off with him to his village - and would no doubt have Arthur's head for even suggesting it.

His father would clap Merlin in the stocks if he knew what was going through Merlin's mind. Or worse. That much is blatant and finite. Uther is a man who holds his possessions and allies, his position, up as trophies. And there are no feathers in his cap that he takes more joy in flouting than Arthur and Morgana; they're his crown jewels.

There must be a way, Arthur thinks, to stop this while he can.

…0…

She hasn't much of an appetite these days. Gwen notices, and tries to persuade her to eat, but Morgana merely feels the words of concern pricking at her skin like needles and dismisses her maid.

It isn't Gwen's fault. Morgana's made much of the fact that she holds no desire for Arthur in any non fraternal way. How was Gwen to know that the lady doth protest too much?

Sighing, she stands and wanders aimlessly about her room. The fabric of her gown sloshes about her frame. All of her clothes are beginning to hang on her now, the laces and fastenings doing little to keep the necklines from slipping down her shoulders. But forcing herself to eat has never worked, and between Arthur and the recent witch hunts… all foods that land on her tongue taste of ash.

The rapping of knuckles on her door draws her attention, and she opens it to see Merlin smiling at her. "Gaius sent me with your medicine." He holds a small bottle out to her. Their fingers brush when she takes it, just ghosting over the smoothness of the red glass. It has probably happened a thousand times before today, but for the first time, she actually notices, and her eyes dart up to Merlin's. Their gazes linger too long, causing Merlin to blush all the way to the tips of his ears and duck his head. He, very ungracefully, jerks his hand away, and from behind his back the other produces a small basket that he holds out to her. "Strawberries," he says quickly. "Gwen, um, she mentioned that you haven't had much of an appetite lately and I heard that they're your favorite…" Face deepening in color further, he begins to stammer and shuffles his feet. "Not hear, not like gossip. One of the maids… she brought some to Arthur. He said you like them. I didn't-" Pausing, finally, to take a deep breath, he looks shyly up at her from below his lashes. Every bit of his skin she could see seemed to be blushing, even his hands. "I would hate if you became ill from not eating."

He's so… earnest. So sweet, and good natured. Always thinking of others. "Thank you, Merlin. That was very kind of you."

She's rewarded with a lopsided grin that shines all the way up to his dark blue eyes. The kind that is incapable of being seen and not returned.

Her mouth opens to invite him in to enjoy them with her, but the words never materialize as Arthur pops up behind him on the stairs. Clearing his throat in the loudest and most obnoxious way possible, he succeeds in startling Merlin, making the other boy jump and whirl around, a sheepish, guilty look on his face. "Oh, um, Arthur, I was just-"

"Thank you for bringing the strawberries, Merlin. And thank Gaius for me. It was very thoughtful."

Smiling again, this time with relief shining in his eyes, he leaves. Arthur stares after him until he can no longer be seen, then turns to her with a frown.

"What?" she demands, the kind of annoyance that way that only Arthur inspires in her rising up in her.

He shakes his head and plucks one of the strawberries out of the basket. "Very thoughtful of Gaius to send these up to you."

"Yes it was," she agrees. Sitting down at the table, she studies Arthur, wondering just what is going on in that head of his.

Arthur props his feet on the edge of her table (ignoring her scowl) and laces his fingers together behind his head. "Very thoughtful. One could even say that it was almost uncharacteristically thoughtful."

Leveling a look on him that she hopes will illustrate just what kind of mood she's in, she leans on her palms on the table and raises an eyebrow. "What exactly is going through that head of yours, Arthur?"

He smiles, all innocence. "Nothing."

Emitting a very unladylike snort, Morgana grabs a strawberry for herself. "That much is obvious."

…0…

_Merlin slows his horse as he approaches the forest that lines the edge of the city. There, just beyond the trees, the faintest hint of dark blue rustles amid the wind and early morning fog._

_Dismounting, he walks slowly, the only sound audible on the air being the crunchcrunchcrunch of the earth beneath Merlin's boots. _

_Wariness is a necessity. His fingers clench subconsciously, memories of the last time he had seen Morgana still fresh in his mind. A sharp stab of phantom pain pulses in his side, the long healed wound calling attention to itself. _

_When their eyes meet, a cold, clammy regret washes over him. Things could have been_

_different. So very different._

"_Hello, Merlin."_

…0…

As soon as Arthur walks into the hall, he can tell Uther has something specific to talk about. Not that he should be surprised. His father never summons him, just him, to dinner without a reason.

Halfway through the meal, he dismisses the servants from the room. Arthur feels a sense of foreboding wash over him. It's never a good sign.

"What do you think of Duke Marcus?" Uther asks, voice bespeaking of a forced lack of agenda.

Arthur shrugs. "He's all right. Polite enough, bit dull." But that's to be expected at his age Arthur supposes.

"Marcus was once one of the greatest warriors these shores have ever seen." He's using his King voice. It brooks no arguments. "He's a righteous and very noble man."

Sighing, Arthur pushes his food around his plate. He feels as if he's eight years old again, sitting at dinner while his father talks of strategy and the importance of galvanized ruling. Whenever the threat of stories of his glory days lace the edge of Uther's words, Arthur wishes for someone, something, to distract him.

But, surprisingly, those words never come. Uther takes a long sip of his wine instead, before he fixes a heavy eye on his son. "I consider Marcus a great friend, Arthur."

"I know."

"And it's not uncommon for him to write to me with various quandaries."

"Yes, I know." This is all getting a bit repetitive.

Even though they are the only ones in the hall, Uther leans forward on the polished surface of the table and lowers his voice, as if afraid of being overheard. "Marcus sent word to me yesterday," he begins, "that he's decided he's ready to marry."

Arthur fights back a snort. Marcus must be close to sixty now. Why and how the man managed to go so long without the inclination to take a wife is beyond him. But saying as much would only spark anger in his father and doom him to a new round of lectures.

"He asked if I could think of any ladies of the court who could be a good match."

Oh. That's a little more interesting then. Not that Arthur is all that invested in who's marrying whom though. No, he's just curious. "Who do you have in mind?" There are several widows at court, wives of knights and noblemen that have lost their lives in aide of Uther's conquests and quarrels, many of them without children. Fine choices for the wife of an aging Duke.

Running a finger along the rim of his goblet, Uther pauses before glancing up at his son. "I thought about it for a good while last night. As you know, Marcus's rule of Cornwall is only a temporary one. The land belongs to Morgana and whomever she marries."

Yes, he knows this story. How Marcus was there with Uther when Gorlois died, asking his two oldest friends to look after what he held most dear; his home and his only child. It's one he could recite in his sleep, he's heard it so often. 'Yes, father,' is on the tip of his tongue, an instinct, but that's the very second when a cold chill of dread snakes its way over Arthur's body. He feels his skin prickle with raised gooseflesh despite the heat of the fire not ten feet away. "You cannot mean to imply that-"

"I most certainly can," Uther declares, almost petulant. "Marcus has been ruling that land for ten years now, the people adore him. In taking Morgana for his bride it becomes his legally. What could make more sense."

Arthur sputters. "He's old enough to be her father!"

"I think," Uther states, his voice devoid of any other outcome, "that it is the best thing for both of them."

Feeling queasy, Arthur pushes his plate away. He's lost his appetite.

…0…

Merlin finds Arthur pacing in his rooms later that night, mumbling under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck in distraction.

"You alright?"

"No, Merlin," he snaps. "I am most assuredly not alright. My father-" He breaks off, not sure of taking Merlin into his confidence in such a matter is a good idea. Merlin can see it all over the prince's face.

There's something else there too, lurking in the guardedness of Arthur's eyes. Some reason he is reluctant to tell Merlin this matter.

"I need to speak to Morgana," Arthur declares suddenly. "Have the guard send for her."

"Sire, it's late. Surely she'll be getting ready for bed, if not asleep already."

Arthur levels one of those looks of his on his manservant. It very much says 'Do I look like I care?' and usually comes with Merlin being set some slightly demeaning and wholly embarrassing task. "It can't wait till morning. I need to speak with her now."

So Merlin does as he is told, and waits while Arthur's paces grow more agitated until Morgana sweeps into the room in her dressing gown and a scowl twisting her lovely features. "What is so important that you had to summon me in the middle of the night like a governess to a spoilt child?"

Ignoring the pointed barb, Arthur flits his eyes to Merlin. "Leave us."

Hours later, after Merlin has visited the dragon (who wouldn't hush and let him sleep), he walks past the gardens and spies an almost spectral figure in white sitting against the stone wall. It's Morgana, and she looks like she has the weight of the world on her mind.

He approaches her slowly. "My lady?"

She looks up at him, blinking at first as though she does not know him. "Oh, Merlin." Her brow creases. "Why aren't you asleep? It's late."

"I could say the same to you," he quips, falling very ungracefully on the ground beside her. "Are you unwell?"

A grimace takes hold of her face, hardening her features in a way most unbecoming to someone as beautiful as Morgana. "Not physically."

Glancing up, Merlin sees that they are directly across from one of Arthur's windows. There's a light still burning behind the glass. Merlin frowns. It isn't like Arthur to stay up so late. Then Merlin remembers how distracted Arthur had been earlier, how anxious as they waited for Morgana...

Morgana.

"Is this-" he pauses, unsure how to approach this. He's a servant, and he has no business asking about a private conversation between a noblewoman and the Crown Prince of Camelot. "Did Arthur upset you?"

A sudden onset of sniffles overcome her and Merlin awkwardly pats her hand, a wave of indignation on her behalf striking him. He hates that Arthur could make her cry, especially when Morgana is one of only a few people that have ever been able to put the prince in his place.

Wiping at her cheek with the back of her hand, Morgana shakes her head. "No, not Arthur. He just-" She sighs. "He doesn't get it."

That's an understatement if Merlin ever heard one. "Get what?"

"It doesn't matter." She sighs. Then her eyes flit to him, a mask of appraisal falling over her face that unnerves him. He shifts on the ground, clearing his throat.

But the mood doesn't break. The air around them seems to thicken as Morgana looks at him, looks and looks, not searching, just seeing. Finally she stands, shaking the dust from her clothes. "Will you walk me back to my chambers, Merlin?"

"Of course." He stands and falls into step behind her, even though she's the one who asked for the escort. Jitters wrack his hands to the point of visibility, so he stuffs them into his pockets, pretending he doesn't notice Morgana notice. It's a cycle.

"Well, goodnight," he says, already on his way back down the short flight of stairs that lead up to her chambers as soon as her door is open.

Morgana's small, cool hand reaches out and takes hold of his wrist.

His eyes shoot to her, wary. This is most improper. If anyone were to see them - Morgana in her nightclothes, holding on Merlin's hand in the middle of the night outside her bedchamber - it would spell nothing but disaster.

Wordlessly, Morgana pulls Merlin inside, locking the door behind them.

…0…

_From his window, Arthur watches as Merlin disappears amongst the trees that line the perimeter of Camelot. _

_Deep inside, Arthur knew this would happen. Morgana always had an uncanny knack of showing up to rub his face in his failures - why should this be any different?_

_She had tried to worn him once. About Gwen. She had stood before him in all her righteous fury and told him plain as day that he would never make Gwen happy. He'd called her jealous and childish and a whole host of other names that he can't recall but still bring the color of shame to his cheeks._

_Then Ninianne had walked into the room, and all conversation stopped. _

_He knew. He just knew. _

_Merlin never told Arthur about Gwen and Lancelot. And Arthur kept quiet about Ninianne. _

_Maybe they never did really get past it all._

…0…

Arthur knocks on Morgana's door just as Gwen finishes fastening her dress.

Last night is still in Morgana's mind. Her conversation with Arthur, the news he broke to her, and then Merlin… "What? Something you forgot to tell me last night?"

Her sharp tone makes Gwen look up, dark eyes ricocheting between the two of them. She ducks her head when Arthur looks her way, and Morgana feels a passing guilt at seeing it, swallowed up by petty pleasure vindictiveness she wasn't even aware she possessed.

"At least you're keeping respectable hours now," she says, sitting down to the breakfast Gwen brought up for her. "No more sending for me in the dead of night."

Gwen turns her body more fully towards the window, and Arthur fixes her with a petulant glare. "Would you rather have been caught off guard by my father?"

He does have a point. She hates when that happens.

"Do you want to join me?"

Shrugging, Arthur sits down across from her and grabs a piece of sausage. Morgana bats his hand away, prompting a royal pout.

The pair of them, they'll never grow up as long. As soon as they get in the same room they regress to squabbling children.

And still, as he shifts in his seat and gives her those disapproving looks, Morgana loves this man with all her heart. Foolish, yes. But she can't help it.

A knock beats out on her door, just moments after Gwen sends word for Merlin of Arthur's whereabouts, and Gwen opens it to reveal Merlin with a tray of food, his face slightly pink. He sets it down in front of Arthur, trying so hard to be careful that he ends up knocking the goblet over, sending water spilling down the front of Arthur's shirt.

Hanging his head, Arthur grumbles under his breath - something that sounds like 'oaf' - and glares at his servant. "Thank you for that, Merlin," he says dryly. "I trust that you can manage to fetch me a dry shirt?"

Stuttering, Merlin back out the door, knocking into Morgana's bureau and upending the candlesticks sitting on it. When he bends to pick them up, his hand slips and he falls against the same piece of furniture, sending the pot of flowers on it to fall over on him.

"Merlin, you're even clumsier than usual today, what's wrong?" Arthur demands as Gwen helps the other boy to his feet.

Cheeks darkening, Merlin shoots some very unsubtle looks in Morgana's direction.

Arthur notices. And his face takes on a very pinched expression. "Oh get out," he snaps. "Go do something useful, and try not to kill yourself while you're at it."

Merlin retreats hastily.

Morgana stands and rounds on him almost the second the door shuts, "Was that absolutely necessary?"

Arthur scoffs at her, dismissing her outrage with a wave of his hand. "Merlin's not the most competent of servants on his best days, but the mere mention of you lately turns him into a gibbering fool."

Gwen looks up from her task, interest clearly peaked.

A strong blush lingers under Morgana's cheeks. She struggles to keep it at bay, lest Arthur notice anything. She'd been lucky that Gwen's usually meticulous eye didn't land on some miniscule detail of what transpired the night before, but Arthur's effect on her could very well afford him an upper hand that Gwen doesn't hold.

"Morgana?" Arthur looks at her suspiciously. "You haven't notice Merlin doing anything… inappropriate, have you?"

An image from the night before assaults her; sweat and skin and eyes a shade of blue unlike any she's ever seen before. The thrill of a secret bubbles up in her chest. It helps her smirk at Arthur, showing just how ridiculous she finds his question. "Inappropriate? _Merlin_?"

Scowling, Arthur begins to eat.

…0…

It takes all the effort he possesses, but Merlin manages to avoid Morgana for the rest of the day. Of all the days for Arthur to be too caught up in other things to have things for him to do. Usually, he has a whole myriad prepared before Merlin even brings his breakfast in. even Gaius had only a few easy chores to occupy his time.

That morning was proof enough that Merlin is incapable of being around Morgana. One look and he'd gone stumbling about like the idiot Arthur declares him to be.

Truthfully, he doesn't really think he should be held to blame for his distraction. It isn't every day that the most beautiful girl he's ever seen pulls him into her bedchamber and proceeds to divest him of his clothing.

Then it happens again, for about the thousandth time that day; his mind whites out, coming back into focus with a sharp picture of Morgana - snowy skin slick with sweat, her mint colored eyes blown wide and feverish, lips parted and swollen…

He gets so lost in his recollections that he absolutely pays no attention to where he's going until he smacks, hard, into another, slighter body.

"Oh, I'm sorry, really-" His words die on his tongue, Morgana's secretive little smirk effectively tying it into knots for him. "Umm…"

Chuckling, Morgana tugs his sleeve and leads him to a secluded alcove hidden away from sight by a thick tapestry. A cold sweat breaks out across his forehead, his palms, prickling the back of his neck like icy fingers. Again, he's back in last night, with Morgana's warm fingers seeking purchase on his skin, blunt nails carving half moon shapes along the expanse of his shoulders.

"Merlin?"

He snaps to, cheeks heating in embarrassment. A knowing look that he's all too familiar with is set on Morgana's pretty face. But this time there's something else there. Something wise and powerful and… feminine. "You've been avoiding me, Merlin," she says simply.

"No," he objects quickly, the lie coming easier than he's comfortable with. "I haven't. Just been, you know, busy."

Her lips purse. "You're a terrible liar, Merlin."

If only she knew.

So he says the only thing that makes sense. "I'm sorry," and her face softens. "It's just… you're so lovely and I…" he trails off, not able to stand the way she's looking at him; so understanding and sympathetic. It's unhinging everything he needs to be to keep himself in check. "Uther would have my head if he knew."

Reaching out, Morgana runs her fingers down the side of his face. She looks thoughtful. "Don't think about that. Just…" She lifts herself up on her toes to brush her lips against his. "Tonight, after everyone's asleep." Her wide clear eyes search his. "I'll be waiting for you."

With the rustle of silk pounding in his ears, he watches her vanish.

His head drops back against the cold stone. God, it's so… foolish. Stupid and reckless and dangerous and all the things he should be rallying himself against. He's vulnerable enough as it is. His magic alone would buy him a one way ticket to the first pyre Uther could have erected. Morgana… merely entertaining notions of being with her would get him tossed in the stocks if not worse, but this. This is as just as bad as sorcery. Touching a woman of Morgana's station is punishable by death and the king would love nothing more than Merlin's head on a silver platter if he so much as suspected.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of lavender and rosewater and something else invading his senses. That smell, it's haunted him all the hours since he crept his way silently from Morgana's room.

There is so much that is forbidden to him. He has to hide what he is - who he is. It isn't fair.

He deserves _something_, doesn't he?

…0…

This thing with Gwen, it's different. Gwen is different. Arthur's never met anyone like her before. He feels a fool for not seeing sooner how amazing she is.

Not that it makes any difference.

His father has made it very clear that while he doesn't want Arthur married yet, he fully intends to see his son take a bride before he dies. And so long as Uther Pendragon draws breath, a maidservant will never be queen of Camelot.

There is, perhaps, a way for him to fix both his problem and Morgana's.

Uther hasn't spoken to Morgana yet about Marcus. The shouting would have thundered all along the castle corridors if he had. And that means that Arthur has time still.

It's a lowly, cowardly thing to use one woman to forget another, Arthur knows that. But he's seen enough of Princesses and Ladies and the daughters of Duke's and Earl's to know that there isn't a one in the overpriviledged bunch that he could tolerate for more than a day - let alone a lifetime.

At least he knows Morgana. Has known her since before he was breeched. They'll squabble like sore tail cats, but surely it wouldn't be all bad, would it?

Yes. Yes, Arthur could be married to Morgana. For all her running at the mouth and stubborn pride, she has more than once acted as his conscience when he most needed one, prodded and provoked him into doing the right thing. She would be an excellent Queen. The people love her, Uther loves her, she would give him beautiful children.

That's the sticking point though. His stomach clenches tightly at the thought of taking Morgana to his bed. She is beautiful. Of that there is no doubt. And Arthur would be lying if he said he'd never thought of her that way, never imagined her late at night when the castle around him was silent.

But the idle fantasies of a hormonal young man are far different than the living, breathing girl he's known most his entire life.

To Arthur, Morgana is forever fixed in his mind as the little girl with tangled hair who liked to gloat and best him at… well, everything. Just as, to her, he would never stop being the freckle-faced little boy, missing his front teeth, running about with scabbed knees and a toy sword. It doesn't matter that she's grown into a woman able to stop a room with her beauty, doesn't matter that Arthur accepted long ago that Morgana would never have him. There really is no other option he thinks, staring down at the chessboard that sits in his room, a childhood gift from his father.

Though he's never actually come right out and asked her, Arthur sometimes wonders about Morgana's nightmares. They are growing more and more frequent - and more terrifying if the look on her face after a 'bad night' are anything to go by. He wonders, when the thoughts will not be held at bay, if they are truly just mere nightmares.

Especially now, when he stares down at two small red carved figures, both wearing crowns, and hears clear as day his father's voice from so long ago saying, "Whatever you do, Arthur, you _must_ protect your Queen."

…0…

A knock at her door causes Morgana to put down the hairbrush she held in her hand, smiling into the looking glass over the dressing table Uther gave her for her twelfth birthday. She knew Merlin would come.

But when she opens her door, it isn't Merlin's blue eyes that stare at her expectantly.

"Well," Arthur demands, in that ever present impatient tone of his, "are you going to let me in or not?"

Feeling her lips twist in a frown, Morgana steps aside and lets Arthur into her room. She spies Merlin at the bottom of the steps, and motions for him to stay where he is.

"Morgana."

She spins, shutting the door too quickly and too loudly for so late at night and pinches her finger.

Arthur eyes her. "Are you all right? You seem a bit…" His eyes rake over her. "Twitchy."

Morgana bristles at his description. "I'm fine. Just not accustomed to men dropping by my bedchamber in the middle of the night."

His lower lips protrudes in a over exaggerated pout. "Must you make everything so difficult?"

"How am I making things difficult?" She throws her hands up in exasperation. He really is the most insufferable man to ever walk the Earth, she's sure of it.

"Just listen." Arthur's hands come toward her, hovering in the air over her shoulders, as if he's about to take hold of her. Only he doesn't, and Morgana's skin tingles with the disappointment of a phantom touch instead. "I think…" He pauses, licks his lips. Morgana's eyes draw down to the motion. "I may have a way to keep my father from marrying you to Marcus."

She'd almost forgotten about that. Between Arthur in front of her and Merlin waiting outside. Almost.

"What is it?"

Very matter of factly, Arthur stares into her eyes, every inch the Crown Prince of Camelot. "You marry me instead."

For a second there is only the rushing of blood in her ears and the smattering of stars in front of her eyes. It's anger, pure and hot, and all consuming. How dare he mock her situation this way.

Then, it sinks in that, good God, Arthur is serious. And nothing in the world could have prepared her for the possibility.

Her stomach drops, the weight almost tangible and her legs go out from under her with it. She sits abruptly on the edge of her table. It can't be real. It can't. Yet… it is. Arthur is before her, offering her that which she wants the most in the world.

"I've shocked you then." Arthur sinks down on to his knee before her, placing one large, warm palm over hers. A small smile edges his lips up. He likes having an advantage over her. Always has. It all goes back to their equally competitive natures - they've been trying to one up the other forever.

She laughs, hollow and breathy. "Yes." Letting her eyes meet his, she yearns to run a hand along the sharp line of his jaw. "It isn't everyday I get a proposal from a prince."

His smile blooms into a laugh. "Is that a yes?"

An aching awareness of love and gratitude raising up in her chest, Morgana shakes her head. "You don't love me, Arthur."

He blinks, surprised, not prepared for the possibility of being refused. "Yes I do."

A hot rush of tears burns up behind her irises, but she bites the inside of her cheek to keep them at bay. Arthur does love her. She knows that as well as she knows her own name, as well as she knows that Uther truly believes he has her best interests at heart. It's one of the only things she has never doubted. Arthur loves her. Fiercely. Has shown it time and time again.

But…

"You're not in love with me."

Arthur frowns. "So?"

She wants to laugh, to cry. Wants to sigh and roll her eyes and maybe smack him upside the head for good measure. Only Arthur would see something such as love as little consequence when it comes to getting his way.

Morgana wants to ask. Gwen. What about Gwen. But she doesn't - she can't. It may not be the moment she's dreamt of, but it is no less precious. He is so dear. Finally, Morgana does let her hands come up to lay against his cheeks. Surprise flashes in the depths of his blue eyes. "It's very noble of you to offer, Arthur, but I can't let you do this for me."

Annoyance flits over his face. "Don't be such a martyr, Morgana. It isn't as if you asking me to cut off my arm or some such nonsense. It's not that big of a deal."

Wanting to scream in frustration, Morgana lets her hands slip away from the warmth of Arthur's face as she falls backwards on her bed, covering her own face with them instead. This is madness.

Morgana feels Arthur take hold of her elbows and pull her back upright. "Morgana," he says, tension in his voice despite the carefulness with which he speaks. "You're not being sensible here."

It's all she can do not to push him backwards on the floor. He really can be the most unbearable man. Sensible has no place here, amongst the discussion of marriage, not when he is all that is in her heart while Gwen occupies his.

It isn't fair.

"May-" she breaks off, emotions clogging her very soul. "I need to think about this, Arthur." Scowling, he sits back on his heels. He is detaching himself from the moment, from her. It hurts more than she can describe. "Uther won't be happy with us," she says quickly, "if indeed we go forward with this idea. He may very well throw me over a horse and drag me to Cornwall at once." She begins to lay her hand on his shoulder, but changes her mind practically at once and brings it back to her lap. "People in our positions must be careful, always."

By the flashing of comprehension in his eyes Morgana knows that, at least for now, she's won.

"Then I'll wish you goodnight," Arthur states, rising stiffly to his feet and vanishes out her door without another glance.

Almost the second the door closes a cloying, choking panic wraps around Morgana's throat. She can't breathe. Everything is too hot and too close around her, the walls closing in. Standing abruptly, the grace Uther had drilled into her as a girl deserts her, and she walks in fast angry paces by the side of her bed. Her skin tingles, her heart racing. She is coming apart at the seams.

And there is only one thing she can do about it.

…0…

When he sees the top of Arthur's head behind Morgana, Merlin panics. The prince's anger would rival that of his father if he were to find out that Merlin, despite Arthur's specific instructions to stay away from Uther's ward, had gone against his master and overreached his own station by taking liberties with Morgana.

Never mind that she was the instigator, Merlin thinks. Her word is worth ten of his - even more where the King is concerned. Not a soul outside Gaius, and maybe Gwen, would believe him. Arthur has assumed him to be in love with Morgana for months.

To the casual observer, he's guilty as sin.

As he scrubs his hand over his face in distraction, Merlin allows himself to wonder what's going on that has Arthur so distracted, what has him speaking to Morgana for so long and late at night. What is going on that they feel the need to keep to the dark for their conversations?

Innate, irrational jealousy fills the cavern of his chest for a breath, followed by shame. He has no right to his envy. Has no rights to Morgana. Last night changes nothing. Well, nothing but increasing the size of the danger he's in.

There's a quiet shuffling on the stairs, and then his door opens quietly, Morgana's small frame edging into the room like a ghost in her white nightdress and loose hair.

He jumps to his feet. "Morgana," careful to keep his voice low, Merlin shuts the door behind her and stands in front of it. Should Gaius overhear them and come to investigate, he'll be able to buy them some time. "You shouldn't be here."

She steps in closer to him. "I thought you would come after Arthur left."

"I wasn't sure how long he would stay," he tells her. "If he saw me-"

He's cut off by Morgana pulling his face down to hers. Her mouth is soft and warm under his, and she yields to him as if she's been thinking on last night as much as he has. While one clumsy hand tangles itself in the wild curls at the back of Morgana's head, the other grapples for the lock on the door. He follows willingly when she wraps a hand around the back of his neck and leads him towards his bed.

She stays until the first lightening of the sky shows through his open window, the flushed skin of Merlin's neck muffling the noises that she makes first, then tracing the shell of his ear with her finger.

He rolls his shoulders, twists his head, but she won't stop. Only giggles and persists in her assault on him.

"That tickles," Merlin protests, pouting up at her on her propped elbow.

"It's meant to." She shows no remorse, obviously, not that he expected any. He grins and catches her hand, playing idly with her fingers. She lets him, giving him an indulgent smile like he's a small child with a new toy. Then she sighs, the lightness of the moment shattered. "I should go."

She dresses silently, her back to him. He doesn't know what he expects - maybe a kiss goodbye? But Morgana only stops at the door, listening for Gaius moving about below, and then turns back to him before she leaves. "Do try to be a bit more subtle, Merlin." With a sly smile, she vanishes.

…0…

_A long blue velvet cloak conceals Morgana from Merlin's eyes. She stands before him a vague, distant figure of sapphire until her hands raise to push her hood back. _

_Some part of Merlin's mind wars with him. He doesn't know how to react to Morgana. Once, she was a friend. She became more from there, became someone he cherished in a way he had no right to do. _

_Thinking of her hand burning white hot on the skin of his side reminds him that for the better part of the last twenty odd years she's been a sworn enemy. _

_Yet she stands before him with no malice in her eyes, no hatred, no accusations. _

_And still, she is the most beautiful woman he has ever gleamed eyes upon. _

"_Merlin," she says, "we have much to discuss."_

…0…

Arthur can't for the life of him keep his mind on training the next morning. He messes up footwork even the greenest of squires could master and were it not for Sir Leon's determination to never let real injury befall the heir to the throne, he would have done himself serious personal injury on a low lying tree branch.

The stable hand had told him that morning that Morgana had gone off on a ride, hours before he was even awake.

He can't help but think that she's trying to get away from him.

Honestly, if he'd known his offer of marriage would draw this sort of reaction from her, he would have kept it to himself.

Three weeks have passed since that night and not once has Morgana ever allowed the circumstances for the two of them to be alone in a room to come to fruition. Arthur is beginning to suspect that she's somehow managed to have Gwen sewn to the hem of her gown so that there is always at least one other person around at all times.

Sir Harold parries his sword, and Arthur, lost in the swirling clouds of his own thoughts, is knocked onto his back. Groaning in frustration, he lays there for several seconds.

"Sire?" The crowd gathers around him quicker than he expected. "Are you injured?"

"Only my pride," Arthur mutters, and takes Harold's proffered hand to pull himself to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur spies Merlin scurrying towards the castle, his arms full of something. He frowns. Merlin has been acting squirrelier than usual lately.

But he doesn't have much time to contemplate it as his father sends for him and utters the word that will change everything; Witchfinder.

Aredian arrives and a chill falls over Camelot. Everyone is terrified. He sees panic in Gwen's eyes, for she herself was once mistakenly accused of witchery. Morgana is paler than ever, obviously shaken. Not surprising, given her tendency to go up against authority on behalf of those accused of magic. Silently, Arthur prays that _everyone _keeps their mouths shut about that one.

Even Merlin looks nervous. Which is just preposterous. As if Merlin had the ability to practice _any _sort of duplicity.

Then it actually happens. Merlin is accused and hauled away and Arthur has to stand there while Gaius's chambers are searched. Sir Leon finds some sort of amulet, and Arthur is powerless to prevent him from showing it to Aredian. Gaius tries to confess to Merlin's charges, but Uther will not hear of it. He has never held any sort of affinity for Merlin, not even on the occasions that the servant has saved his son's life. Gaius on the other hand, has been in the King's service for decades. His pleas fall on deaf ears.

A trial is scheduled for the next day, Merlin hauled off to the dungeons. Gwen is in tears, Morgana looks ready to fall over.

Late that night, long after the stone walls around him are silent, the door to Arthur's chamber opens. He'd been sitting, trying - praying - to think of a way to save Merlin. There's no proof against him, couldn't possibly be. When the squeaking of hinges against wood pull him from his thoughts, he grabs his sword and jumps to his feet.

Morgana appears and rolls her eyes. "Put that away before you hurt yourself, Arthur." She sits at his table and looks up at him, expectantly, waiting for him to join her.

She sighs. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know that there's anything we can do," he tells her. Arthur tentatively places his hand over hers. She blinks in surprise, then covers it with her other palm.

"Arthur," she whispers, urgency undercutting her words, "we can't just stand by and let this happen. Do you honestly think Merlin will get a fair trial?" Arthur drops his eyes, unable to stand the pain he sees in her face. "Arthur, please." She tries again, "He'll be killed."

"It isn't as if we can break him out, Morgana. Even if my father could truly be convinced that neither us had a hand in it," Arthur fights a shudder at the thoughts of Uther extracting any sort of reprimand on Morgana, "he would still hunt Merlin down. You know Uther - he will not rest until any so called sorcerer is dead."

Tears gather in Morgana's eyes faster than should be humanly possible. She raises her hand from the top of Arthur's and wipes at her face.

It kills Arthur to see her like this. Morgana is always so stubborn, so defiant. Seeing her hurt reminds him of that, despite her bravado, she is small, and as breakable as anyone. Seeing her suffer like this opens an often ignored wound deep in the bottom of his heart.

"What if we plead with Uther," she tries. "I can go to him, tell him I'll marry Marcus willingly," she barrels over Arthur's protest, "if he spares Merlin's life. He can banish him instead."

If it were any other crime… Merlin saved Arthur's life, and Uther owes him. But magic is unpardonable. Which is what he tells her.

Jerking away from him, Morgana paces the length of the room. "Don't you care, Arthur? After everything Merlin has done for you - you're not even going to _try_?"

Shame, heavy and solid, hits him. No one but Morgana has ever been able to make Arthur, despite his years and rank, feel like nothing more than a misbehaving child that has just acting most disappointingly. Feeling his shoulders slump, Arthur rises and walks toward her. "Morgana, you must know that if there were a way, I would do it. Please," he takes her hands, "believe me."

"I want to," she whispers.

As well she should. They may bicker and quarrel, but this girl before him knows Arthur better than anyone else in the entire world ever has. He has to - needs to - convince her. "I am so sorry, Morgana," he says, desperately. "I consider Merlin a friend. If there were any way, I would do it."

She regards him warily, her eyes swimming with something unknowable to him. Finally she nods, takes a step back from him. "Arthur, I have never asked you for anything, not for myself." He knows this. She's far too proud to humble herself before him that way. "But I'm asking now. If you won't save Merlin for Gaius, or for yourself, or just because it's what's right, then do it for me. Please."

The Prince feels as if his whole world has just titled on it's axis. Everything is upended.

"Morgana…"

She stands directly before him again, the wheels turning in her head reflecting in her pale eyes. "Arthur, _please_," she repeats. Eye flicking down, heat flooding her face, she grips her hands so tightly that he sees all of the little color she possesses flee from her knuckles. "I- I'll do anything."

On 'anything,' her eyes flick back up to his eyes and there is little doubt of her meaning. "Morgana, I-" He's what? Surprised? Scandalized? Insulted? He doesn't know, but it is unlike anything else, ever, that he's felt.

At his silence, Morgana turns and leaves without another word.

…0…

It isn't mentioned.

Gaius and Gwen, wonderful souls they are, they find proof of Aredian's treachery. Morgana wonders how many other innocent people he's condemned just for the sake of his own reputation as she watches Merlin released from his chains and hugs his saviors.

Arthur stands on the other side his father as Uther apologizes to Merlin. He's silent, as usual when the King speaks, but Morgana feels his eyes on her. No big shock there, not after she basically offered herself up to him the night before, all for the sake of somebody else.

But Morgana couldn't tell him… couldn't say the words; that she loves him so desperately, that she cares for Merlin more than she ever thought she would. That she knows Arthur will never love her as she wishes and would settle for one misspent night even if she has to barter for it. It's all so tangled and messy, and she stayed awake until dawn wondering how she let herself get into such a fix.

That night, as she lies in her bed with Merlin curled up behind her, Morgana imagines what Arthur must think of her. Uther had her schooled diligently to ensure that she grew up a proper lady of the court. And she had gone to Arthur and offered up her virtue as payment for a favor. She shuts her eyes tightly. The steady rhythm of Merlin's heart against her back is comforting. Tangible proof of what she had been bargaining for. Merlin is so… good. Such a sweet, kind hearted man, without a selfish or malicious bone in his body.

Her affection for him does not, however, diminish her love of Arthur that runs straight to her soul. She sighs deeply, hoping that it doesn't rouse Merlin from his sleep, and imagines what would have happened had Arthur had answered her, had he not been effectively struck dumb by her lack of shame. And it stays in her mind all the rest of the night and on into the morning, while she and Gwen visit with Lady Corinne and her new baby, at dinner with Uther where he carefully broaches the subject of Duke Marcus coming for a visit.

It does not leave her mind until yet another mysterious knight comes into Camelot and challenges Arthur.

Morgause, she says. And though there is no reason for it, Morgana feels she knows her. There's something in the other woman's eyes that seem so familiar to Morgana, as if she's seen them before but she is certain that they have never met.

When Morgause bests Arthur, he acts the same way he used to when Morgana would beat him at one of their endless challenges with their small wooden swords. She goes to see him, having heard that Uther has ordered him confined to his room upon Morgause's request. Uther doesn't know his son at all if he thinks that's going to prevent him from keeping his word. Arthur is too noble, too prideful, to let any broken promise fall from his lips.

And it is exactly that pride that has him acting like a child when she walks into his guarded chambers. "Still sulking?"

He raises his head from the table and glares at her. "Surely you have better things to do than mock me."

"Oh never," she teases, leaning against the table beside his chair. "It isn't the end of the world, Arthur."

He snorts. Rolling her eyes, Morgana expects a tiny scratch above his eyebrow. He'd been wearing a helmet, so he must have gotten it some other way. He jerks his head away from her hold. "Are you here merely to poke fun at me, or did you actually need something?"

Morgana tamps down the hurt of Arthur turning away from her. He's been avoiding her ever since the night he came and asked her to marry him. Then, she remembers. "That night, when I asked you to save Merlin-"

He colors. "Don't."

But Morgana has never been one to listen to Arthur. Not without proper cause - which is rare. "I said I'd do anything… you could have made me promise I'd marry you."

Cheeks still flushed, he looks up at her from beneath his lashes. "You think I'd do something as dishonorable as that?"

No. Of course he wouldn't. "I don't, but you could have."

Arthur stands, the chain mail he's still wearing making his shoulders look even more broad than usual. It glints in the firelight, twinkling like tiny stars. "When you say yes, Morgana, I would prefer it to be of your own free will."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "_When _I say yes?"

He grins, every inch the same little boy she first met. "You're a lot of things, Morgana, but you're not stupid."

Opening her mouth to retort, Morgana is hit by a picture inside her head, so vivid, that it steals her breath. Gasping, she fumbles for the edge of the table. Quicker than she can blink, Arthur takes hold of her shoulders and directs her to his vacated seat. He crouches down in front of her, concern running along the edges of his sharp features. "Morgana, are you alright?"

Not trusting her voice, she nods. "I don't think you should go, Arthur. You don't know what she wants."

The way he looks at her in that moment, she's convinced he knows. But he only says, solemnly, "I gave her my word."

When she leaves his chambers, she sees Merlin slipping down the hallway, a tray in his hands. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," she whispers, and makes her way to Morgauses's room.

She's packing her things to leave. Again Morgana feels like she knows her. "You aren't going to hurt him, are you?"

"No," Morgause assures her. "I just need to talk to him, and I can't do that here." And despite all evidence to the contrary, Morgana believes her.

Morgana's eyes slip down, at a loss. This isn't Sophia and Morgana has no proof that Morgause would actually harm Arthur in any way. "That's a lovely bracelet."

"Thank you. It was my mother's." She steps closer, face serious and eyes searching. "You look tired."

"I haven't been sleeping well," Morgana tells her. "Nightmares."

Sliding the metal off her wrist, Morgause hands it to her. "Here. This is a healing bracelet. It will help."

"Oh, I couldn't," she says, but Morgause presses it into her hands. "I insist."

That night, while Morgana sleeps better than she has in years, Arthur and Merlin slip out of the castle. No one knew it then, but that was when the shift began.

…0…

_Stepping away from the window, Arthur looks around the room, not really seeing the new quilt Gwen had made for his birthday, or the tapestry given to him by the monks at Glastonbury. Instead he sees himself, younger, on the day he almost killed his father in the throne room. _

_He remembers Morgana. The concern on her face, the softness of her eyes, all of it as fresh in his mind as the day it happened. He still doesn't think she actually knows what happened - there, with Morgause - but she knew something was wrong. _

_But more than anything, when the night that followed his sword at his father's throat comes into his mind, Arthur recalls the thump of his heart when Morgana had come to his chambers, silently, and wrapped her arms around him._

…0…

"Do you know the story of Cassandra, Merlin?"

He looks over at her at her small writing table, drafting a letter to some aunt in France that he hadn't even known she had until that morning. He looks up from his task of cleaning out her fireplace, wiping at some soot he feels on his face. "Can't say I do."

"She was a Greek princess who could see the future." Taking a deep breath, she gives him a sad smile. "She saw terrible things, Merlin, the destruction of her home, the deaths of her family. But nobody believed her. It drove her mad."

He stands and walks over to where she's sitting. "I thought you said that the bracelet Morgause gave you was helping with the nightmares."

"It is," she tells him, toying her quill in between her fingers. "But…"

"But?"

Looking up at him with watery eyes, she shudders out a breath. "I've started having them when I'm awake."

Guilt with the force of a living creature gnaws at his insides, threatening to tear him apart and eat him from the inside out. It hurts, more than anything he's felt before. Worse than any physical pain for sure. He should tell her… he can help her, let her know that she's not alone in this. Covering her hand with his, he rubs across her pale skin. The metal of her bracelet is cool under his fingers when he brushes it. He traces the lines of intricate engravings idly. "What do these mean?"

Morgana shrugs. "I don't know really, but they look familiar."

"Yeah," he murmurs, "they do." In truth they look like the symbols in his magic book. He's been waiting for her to take the bracelet off. Morgause is not to be trusted. Merlin's as sure of that as he is his own name, and he wants to have a look at this particular piece of jewelry for himself but Morgana never takes it off.

Arthur hasn't spoken of Morgause since they left her, not to him in any case. Doubtful if he's talked about it with his father. The king seemed only too eager to have the whole business behind them. Arthur isn't one for speaking openly of his feelings. Merlin can recall, with perfect clarity, the pained expression on the prince's face every time Merlin had inquired about anything involving Gwen. But on the rare occasions that he does open up, if not Merlin, then Arthur confides in Morgana. Well, as much as his pride will allow him to.

He is glad that Uther has called his son in for some meeting or something - its about a border dispute up north. While Merlin can use his excuse of cleaning Morgana's fireplace in preparation for the cold weather, he knows that Arthur may not be too keen on believing him.

With good reason, he reminds himself. The fireplace is just in case someone should come into the room. Gwen, or Gaius maybe. In reality Morgana had asked to see him. He finds her paler than normal and distressed about what she's seeing.

"It's always Arthur," she mumbles against Merlin's skin. "Why is it always his pain that I have to see?"

At a loss of what to tell her, Merlin hugs her closer, feeling the ridge of her bracelet digging in to the small of his back as she grips at him.

…0…

One thing that Arthur has never been is a quitter. And one thing he is, as Morgana likes to remind him, is stubborn. Hopelessly so.

Morgana may be just as stubborn as he is, but she's also practical, if prone to the odd hysteric. Marcus is due to visit Camelot in only two months time and if he finds her to be pleasing enough, then she is to be married. It won't matter if she wants it or not. Uther has the final say and Arthur knows that though it would hurt him to have her so far away, the king will be happy to see Morgana settled and safe.

If she wants to avoid a life in the cold Cornish cliffs married to a man old enough to be her father, then she has very few options.

There are moments though, when the light is low or she's turned away, that Arthur sees a sadness in her eyes that he's not accustomed to from her. If he's too proud to ever show his weaknesses, then Morgana is even more so. She tries so hard to keep up her icy exterior of the proper lady. But Arthur knows her - no matter how much she likes to think otherwise. He knows her better than he knows himself, certainly as well as a man can know any woman.

He's begun to take his meals with her. She raised one dark eyebrow the first time he entered her chambers, looking anywhere but at Gwen, and asked her very formally to have dinner with him. That telltale light of not quite contentment had flashed in her eyes only to disappear so quickly he wonders if he imagined it. And wonder he does. Truly. Morgana knows exactly what he's doing, not that he's trying to be underhanded about it. Wryly he thinks that if he stays on his good behavior he could probably charm her into falling in love with him - if she were any other woman in the world other than Morgana. For as well as he knows her, she knows him just as well.

He is simply making an effort.

The morning after Merlin is convinced he heard someone in her chambers, Arthur orders flowers brought to her before Gwen brings their food in. The maid is unnaturally quiet, but Arthur does his best not to think about it. That is a pipe dream. Morgana is tangible, Morgana is his future. Letting his thoughts drift isn't going to help matters at all.

"Morgana," he says, "again, I am sorry about last night."

She's distracted this morning. Very. It verges on insulting, especially when she doesn't seem to hear him and he has to resort to snapping his fingers in front of her face to get her attention. "Morgana?"

Starting, she meets his gaze and her pale eyes look troubled. "I'm sorry, what?"

With a frown, Arthur repeats himself. She waves it off. "Morgana, are you alright? You haven't even touched your plate."

Morgana smirks at him knowingly, taking pleasure in teasing him. "If that's your way of asking for my sausage you could be a bit more subtle."

Arthur fairly aches to stick his tongue out at her. But they're past that now, so he sighs out his ire in a long breath and purses his lips. "I better go," he tells her as he stands, "as I've actually cleaned my plate."

"No surprise there," she remarks, airy and lofty as she can muster.

"Yes well, I have Druids to find after all." Arthur stops at the door, seeing her again lost in thoughts that he finds himself uncomfortable not to know. "I may not be back in time for lunch - will you join me for dinner?"

She waves her hand at him. "Of course." Again, he wants to make his displeasure known. Is it really so much to ask that she give him her attention when he's standing in her chambers speaking directly to her?

With one last huff, and one last avoided glance from Gwen, he stalks from the room, determined to find the Druids and get on with the real matter at hand.

…0…

Three months. That's what Morgana figures. The night Arthur asked her to marry him. An angry tear streaks hot down her face. How tragically ironic that she is so close to getting what she wants the most only to have it all fall to dust.

Holding a hand to her rolling stomach, she paces back in forth in front of her window. Morgause asked to meet her and the hour is fast approaching. Its foolish, but from what Arthur told her its obvious that Morgause has magic, and the yearn to be with someone who understands pulses deep in her soul.

And perhaps a part of Morgana hopes that the other woman will be able to help her, not only with her ever growing powers, but with Uther. He's becoming more and more insistent that Morgana marry Marcus. The Duke is a good man, that much Morgana remembers when she thinks about the man who gave her a pony for her seventh birthday and stood with her father while she rode it for the first time.

What sort of punishment will Uther decree once he's aware that marrying her to Marcus is no longer an option? A shudder goes through her. Most likely he'll banish her for bringing shame upon his good name. A snort makes its way out of her with that thought. That's all she'll get if she's lucky - that and a tarnish on her reputation whenever anyone speaks of her in Camelot again.

If things had gone a different way, she would be marrying Arthur. Her life has become a series of ifs. If she had figured it out sooner. If Arthur were less noble, if she were less proud. If she hadn't been so foolish.

But now, now the ifs don't matter. Now it is whats. What Uther will do. What Merlin will say. What Arthur will think.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry I didn't do better for you." Her other hand falls to lie alongside the other one, the entire field of her stomach covered. Perhaps, if she had realized sooner, maybe this could have been Arthur's baby…

No. Morgana could never do that to him. And it isn't only that she loves him so dearly. Arthur is too good, has been too good to her, for her to deceive him that way, and far too honorable to have laid a finger on her outside of marriage. His father would kill him.

What will become of Merlin should he be found out? She won't name him, but Merlin as well has too much character. Much too much to allow him to stand by silently while she's thrown from the only home she's known since she was ten years old. He'll offer to marry her, of course. But can she go through with it? As dear and sweet as Merlin is, as much as she cares for him, could she stand before God and give him her vows while her heart is full of nothing but Arthur?

Alvarr, he had been so close. So very close. Morgana would be free now had he succeeded. Uther would be gone, Arthur would be the king Camelot needs, and Morgana would be free.

Opening her door, Morgana peers out into the dark castle hallway. There are no guards to be seen. Merlin hasn't come to her room in over a week, not that she's exactly upset about that. She would have to tell him - surely he would notice her weight gain without the aide of her flowing gowns. Yes, Morgana knows that she is going to have to tell him - tell everyone - at some point, soon. It will just be easier for everyone once Uther is out of the way.

Grabbing her cloak, she tiptoes down the stairs and out a side door, the shadows hiding her all the way into the forest.

…0…

"_I'm fine, thanks," Merlin replies glibly, moving his cloak out of the way to sit on an old tree stump. He look up at Morgana, eyes guarded, rimmed by lines at the edges, bright silver streaking liberally through his dark hair. _

_Morgana crosses her arms over her chest. He's being a tad petulant here and he knows it, but it's been twelve years since he's last laid eyes on this woman and she still haunts his dreams with her green eyes and her bright smile, with her good heart turned so dark. _

_He doesn't think that he's being unreasonable, not wanting to make this easy on her. _

_One dark eyebrow arches in her still unlined face. For all intents and purposes, Morgana appears entirely unchanged. Fairy blood. "Really, Merlin," she says, "can't we try and be civil here? For old time's sake?"_

_With a sarcastic twist to his mouth, he studies her, and the space around her, for any sign of the subterfuge he knows has to be lurking nearby. "No, we can't. Why don't you just tell me what you want, Morgana."_

_A bright, cold smile spreads across her face. "I want to see Arthur."_

…0…


End file.
